the spring sometimes with mud and rains, where we wore jackets and sweaters, walked the miles and sat a while upon the hill where a stone was stationed. overcast and windy, but, as it goes, change does the world well sometimes. then, warmth and the celebration of summer, its blooms and creatures and the clear blue sky, the petals just there and the feral ferns unwinding. see the verdancy of the woodlands whimsical, the paths and ways wondrous.
Autumn waits and then its own brand of beauty, hues red yellow-brown,- the treeline captures one’s eye there, calm, reminding somehow of all the autumns before. where is that sweater?-that jacket?- that book of poems or novel that used to be revisited in the fall months? what would Henry Miller say about?- he said he liked Jack Kerouac’s nature writing. he would have something to say about it, something positive, life affirming. the sagacity of seasons…everybody wants only the great sun and clarity,- but the cycles of time know what they are doing. winter,- cold and brooding, serious and often saturnine. bleak days, early dark, but sometimes the sun, the sparkles of snow upon branches near or wild. that is good, no?- the quiet meditative earth then, blanketed in nature’s newness and wisdom…
Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia. She is a person to whom from an early age, Leonardo da Vinci’s statement “Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard” is circulating through the blood. That’s why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them. As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube. Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers. She is the recipient of many international awards. “Trees of Desire” is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems “Moon Circle”. She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists “Mountain Views” in Montenegro, and she also is a member of the Poetry club “Area Felix” in Serbia.
Friendship is close to the concepts of brotherhood, friendship and brotherhood, but from a psychological point of view, it is different from each other. We believe that friendship is a psychological concept. Friendship is a wonderful bond that connects one person to another person, one nation to another nation.
Every person and every country has a brother country, a friend. Even lonely people. Loneliness is not unique to people. People have many friends, but only one friend. He stands by your side in good and bad days. Friendship is a relationship between people based on views, mutual understanding and trust. If you trust your friend to tell your secrets, he will never reveal them. There are poems about friendship with a wonderful meaning. Friendship can be likened to a glass, because the glass cannot be restored and returned to its original state…
Friendship is not likened to a bottle for nothing.!!!
Kurolova Dilnura Shokirjon’s daughter was born on October 15, 2009 in Gurlan district of Khorezm region. She is currently a student of the 8th grade of the 30th school. To date, she has achieved many achievements.
My tank clatter ironical song that clutter my pleasure, Rhyming chronicles cock like confused can, For course that clamps my container. Chuku-chuk-chuku-ku-chuk! Causing sounds as cavalry choke on war, Itching as chisel choking on wood. Crawling core my heart chimney. Converting charge to body weakness. Coercing me clutches calm humbleness, When feeling uncomfortable like comb choking my clatter container. I conclude to comply to its command… Conning me to comply as he concise.
I am a miner of peace
I have been mining peace with my peace digger core metaphor Arranging words to sentence with the alphabet of inspiration Laddering rhyming sword that kills conflict Filling my leaves with my shape edged pen build up of simile Pouring hyperbole water to fills the leaves of crafted poems.
Nuraini Mohammad Usman is a passionate writer and student from Minna, Niger state with roots in Kano State. Inspired by his experience and culture, he crafts uplifting poems and stories that ignite positive change with a strong foundation from Dayamas Model School, Better Treasure International School, and Al-Fawzul Azeem International School, Nuraini is currently honing his skills at Legend International School and the Hilltop Creative Art Foundation. He believes in the power of words to inspire and motivate others.
Sure, they stepped into the line of fire for a moment
but, at the sound of the bang,
they fell away,
left you exposed,
just the way you wanted it.
In the end,
you were so sore and tired and pain-wrecked,
you picked up that revolver yourself,
fired away until a bullet found its mark.
Come morning,
they found you in your bed.
Dead of old age was the conclusion.
But dead of what it takes to die
was the truth.
PAWN
He didn’t wake up one morning
and say to himself, “Yeah that’s me.
I’m the runt of the chessboard.”
He’d been small and powerless as a baby
The years hadn’t changed the situation.
He had his own house — more of a crib
really – with a mortgage looking over it.
And a wife and two kids to share
in his lowly status:
Plus extended family — a hierarchy
that forever doomed him to a bottom rung.
And a job that shunted him this way,
that way — atypical pawn – of limited
movement, potential, disposal,
and no chance of being a king.
The city with its. roads, its traffic signs,
its cops, its bankers,
only existed so as to tell him what to do.
He attended church to confirm his insignificance.
And played cards with his buddies
though even the winners didn’t really win.
Alcohol found him an easy mark.
So did reality TV.
And then-the doctor’s found
cancer in his brain —
inoperable and in charge.
THE SUN’S PROXY
So little of the sun’s rays
make it to the attic window
and the subsequent shine
does no more than
illuminate some flies,
living and dead.
The past lives here
so it’s only right
that brightness look elsewhere
for its truth
and that a pervading dimness
tends to the fully-packed cardboard boxes,
the over-stuffed metal trunk.
I come up here with a flashlight,
so that I control memory’s narrative,
glossy up an ancient photograph
yet leave a wedding dress in shadow,
glimmer off a bronze baby shoe
but let sleeping love-letters lie.
In this cramped space,
I am the sun,
uncaring of a jigsaw puzzle
but stopping to polish up
a favorite model MG sports car,
shunning school report cards
while bringing out the colors
in a far-too-small-for-me
hand-painted psychedelic shirt.
The true sun
must concern itself
with the limited world of insects.
In low-ceilinged storage space,
the life I’ve lived
revolves around me.
TO BE WHAT THEY’RE LOOKING FOR
A beautiful beach day,
perfect for the tan that will give me
that G Q look just in time
for Miss Right – the phantom lady.
Sea breeze is blowing,
my air’s full of sand
and smells like salt –
hope that doesn’t chase away this woman
who’s not about to show up anyhow.
I tried hawking myself
in the nighttime,
but neon always focused
on my worst side
and shadows had their own dark things
to say about my character.
I’m a compendium
of fidgeting theories,
in constant search for that holy grail –
my best aspect.
What if that special someone prefers
natural off-white to bronze?
And I’m not so muscular.
Is my bathing suit just being honest
or is it asking for trouble?
I could dress in a suit
and look as square as six Salvation Army generals.
Or shop where the kids shop
and come off as a survivor of a time-machine crackup.
Some things they say should be left to chemistry.
So ultra violet rays contribute to oxidative stress,
melanocytes produce eumelanin.
Really, I’m doing all I can.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Tenth Muse. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, Birmingham Arts Journal, La Presa and Shot Glass Journal.